Harry And Jean: The Sorcerer's Stone
by Velvet Nights and Satin Skies
Summary: Two very different children, in very different Houses. Similar in looks, different in temperament. One in Gryffindor, one in Hufflepuff. One with friends, one without. The only similarity? They look identical, and they happen to be twins. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

_"Shh, be still, little one." _

_Green light. _

That was the one thing which connected her to her parents – that one memory of being shushed, and green light. Sometimes, she would lie awake at night and try to imagine a face, a gesture, or even more words – but it all descended into slumber, eventually. And every morning, she would wake up with a little less of that one memory – time flowing on its natural course, ebbing away at her earliest thoughts and images. She never begrudged time – never begrudged anybody, really – but she did cling to the shushing. Sometimes she would think that the memory was more fabrication than actual recollection; for the real memory was hazy and blurred, like a bad photograph. And she wasn't unique in her wish to know more of her parents – like most of the children at the orphanage, she didn't know who her parents were, or even if they were still alive. Ms. Simms, a kindly young woman who ran the place, had told Jean that she had been deposited on the doorstep in the middle of the night. It wasn't uncommon, Jean knew that – but she still hoped Ms. Simms would help her. For you see, Jean had always been a curious child.

Shy and soft-spoken, Jean faded into the background. She did attempt to join the children in play, but the other children shunned her quite quickly. For one, Jean was ... odd. Strange things happened around her, odd things which nobody could understand. Once, in a fit of ill temper, she had caused Timothy Gordon to sprout long, well-furred, white rabbit ears, and they didn't disappear for a week. On the playground, when invited to a game of hopscotch or kickball, the toys would occasionally float in the air, only to clatter back to the ground. She didn't flaunt her displays – if anything, she seemed more frightened of them than anything. But the other children were in simultaneous awe and fear of her – the unpredictability and unknown enticed any child to be afraid of her. Mostly, however, they just left her alone, to her books and to herself. It wasn't as though she looked odd – with rumpled black hair and soft brown eyes, Jean was slightly built and looked like any typical ten year old. Her glasses often slipped down to the end of her nose, seeing as they were a size or two too big, and her clothes seldom fit. Miss Simms tried hard to provide a clean, loving home for the children, but caring for twenty children was difficult, and keeping them all in clothing which fit was a near impossible task.

It was a lazy, syrupy summer day in mid June when things began to change for Jean. To start with, she got the letter.

Letters directed towards children at the Orphanage was a rare event – usually, this meant a long-lost parent had reappeared and wanted to claim their child. But generally these claims were either mistaken or false, causing Miss Simms to scan each letter before it was in the hands of the child. There was no point getting their hopes up, she reasoned, if there was a mistake in identity; each child here harbored the desperate, feverish dream to one day be claimed by a rich parent and smothered with love for the rest of their life. However, Miss Simms had been waiting for _this_ particular letter. Oh, yes, she had. Eleven years ago, several things had been explained to her by a man with a long silver beard. Most of that night was a fog in her mind, but she did remember one or two things – one of which was to wait for a letter for the child.

Jean was eating her porridge at the slightly lopsided kitchen table with the other children, kicking her feet under the table and eating as quickly as possible. There was a smooth, continuous babble around her – children gossiping, exchanging secrets and trinkets, spinning stories or retelling dreams. It was typical child talk, and Jean usually joined in with good will, despite her alienation, for one of the best things a young child likes to do is talk. But that day she had a book she wanted to finish – _Swiss Family Robinson_, which was an entertaining book left behind by one of the church ladies who visited every so often. At any rate, Jean wanted to finish her soupy, overly sweet porridge, in order to get back to her book. Miss Simms came out into the kitchen and was greeted by a chorus of "Good morning, Miss Simms!"

"Good morning, children," Miss Simms said, distractedly wiping the corner of a boy's mouth with his forgotten napkin. When this sticky task had been finished, she looked up at Jean. "Jean, dear, will you come with me for a moment?" The girl raised her eyebrows, but dutifully pushed her chair back and followed her guardian into the other room. There was an instant raising in gossip among the children – only children who were in trouble were called into the parlor.

The parlor was a neat, well-scrubbed area where parents and relatives were seated while Miss Simms explained that giving up their child was permanent. It contained a fireplace – seldom used – and a few moderately priced pieces of furniture, and Jean sat down on one of the velvet chairs. Miss Simms smiled a little, a weak twitch of her lips, and folded her hands. "Jean, I have something to tell you," She said quietly. "Your parents were killed in an accident when you were a baby."

Jean dropped her gaze, heart sinking. The shred of hope that her parents had been coming to claim her dissolved. If there weren't any people claiming her, then why was Miss Simms sitting her down? Jean tried to remember if she had done anything wrong lately – nothing, except pushing Billy to the ground when they had been arguing. And young children getting into spats was a fairly regular occurrence, and did not warrant a sit down. "Thank you, Miss Simms," Jean muttered. "But what happened? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, nothing wrong," Miss Simms said hastily. She wracked her brains – how did the Professor tell her to handle this situation? "It's just ... you're different, Jean."

"I know," Jean said, brown eyes dimming. "I'm sorry about the skipping-rope, I didn't mean to turn it into a snake, I really didn't –"

"This has nothing to do with the skipping rope," Miss Simms said firmly. "And I just – oh, never mind. Here," She sighed, and handed the letter to Jean.

It was a square, thick envelope, written on in emerald ink. The paper felt smooth and weighty beneath her hands, and her slender brows drew together as she turned it over. On the back was a glossy, unbroken seal with a coat of arms pressed into the wax. The crest had a badger, a snake, a lion, and an eagle all twisted sinuously together around a large letter H, and she frowned. Because, written in an elegant hand was:

_Miss J. Potter_

_The Dusty Attic Bedroom_

_297 Coakely Way_

_Bristol_

"What...?" Jean queried, turning over the letter again. "Who sent this? And how do they know I sleep in the attic bedroom?"

Miss Simms had dreaded this conversation for eleven years. "I don't know, Jean, I truly don't. But open the letter, I think a few things will be explained once you do." She said, and passed over the pewter letter opener. Jean broke the seal, edging the letter opener under it, and withdrew a sheet of parchment from the envelope. In the same beautifully scrawling hand, read:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

_**Headmaster: **Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) _

_Dear Miss Potter,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find an enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall _

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

"Is this some sort of joke?" Jean asked, looking back up at Miss Simms. "What is this? Some sort of weird boarding school?"

"A bit," Miss Simms sighed. "Jean, you are a witch."

Jean wrinkled her nose. "No, I'm not, thank you very much." However, her brain clicked stutteringly over memories – rabbit ears, skipping ropes, hovering footballs – and then sputtered off. "What's going on, Miss Simms?" She asked, very much confused. "Who sent this letter?"

"Jean, you are going to a special school," Miss Simms began again falteringly. She really had no idea how to handle this, but she braved through it. "A school for people with ... special abilities. Yes, you are a witch, and yes, its nothing to be ashamed of. Your parents were apparently quite famous, Jean. I'm afraid I don't know more then that."

The two of them sat in silence, both of them confused and bewildered. After a moment, Jean read the letter again. "'We await your owl'?" She asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miss Simms raised her eyebrows. "Not the slightest idea." She said truthfully.

She continued to read the letter. "Where am I supposed to get this stuff? A wand? Where does someone get a magic wand?" Jean asked.

"Someone will be arriving later this morning to explain things fully, and to get your things," Miss Simms said, remembering what the bearded man had told her. "Er, I'm not quite sure who it is, but they assured me –"

_BAM!_

There was a gigantic knock at the door.

"What is _that_?" Jean yelped, terrified, and Miss Simms was on her feet in a flash.

"Stay here, Jean," She commanded, and walked to the door. Smoothing her hair, she swallowed nervously, and opened the door a crack. "Yes? Can I help – _oh, dear_."

She fainted dead away. Jean went to the hallway and poked her head out the door, looking at the main hall. When she saw who was standing there, barely framed in the doorway, was a giant of a man with a hand on the shoulder of a young boy. The man was _huge_ – taller than a refrigerator and wider than a small car, he had a wild tangle of black hair which blended into a wiry black beard. Two small, twinkling eyes peered out from behind the mass of hair, and Jean went deadly pale. A thick, furry coat fell to his knees, and he looked like a large, shaggy bear with a beard. Not to mention he was also holding a long, crooked pink umbrella, which just made the entire scene even stranger. He peered sympathetically down at Miss Simms, and then squatted and picked her up bodily, cradling her gently in arms the size of tree trunks. Miss Simms, who was a tall woman, looked like a fragile doll. "Not t' worry," The man rumbled, his voice louder and deeper than a thunderstorm. "We'll 'ave yeh a'right in a tic."

Children came running, and they piled into the doorway, all of them slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the sight of the gigantic man holding their beloved guardian in his arms. One of the older children swore. Jean nearly fainted herself – certainly her head rang, and the giant looked alarmed.

Not to mention the young boy standing near the giant looked nearly identical to Jean.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Would you do me a favor? If you see my Muse passing by, can you corner it and promptly beat it senseless? I don't know WHY I am obsessed with the idea of a Harry!Twin. I really, really don't. I actually expect to be featured on pottersues quite shortly. **


	2. Chapter 2

Harry regarded the strange scene warily, staying near Hagrid, uncertain what to do. The whole scene was a little surrealistic – a young girl with dark hair was literally clinging to the doorframe, chewing nervously on her nails, eyes wide and anxious. She was a plain looking girl – dark hair, slightly wavy towards the ends, held back by two barrettes over her ears, with too-big glasses slipping down the end of her nose. An old but clean skirt stopped at the knee, and a dark sweater with a few pulls on it hung awkwardly on her lightly built frame. The unconscious Headmistress was lying on the stiff divan in the parlor, and she was just coming about now, thanks to a sip of mysterious liquid from a bottle in Hagrid's coat pocket. The other children had crowded into the parlor, all of them gaping quietly and murmuring amongst themselves, and the woman sat up unsteadily, spluttering and coughing from the burning liquid poured down her throat. She took one look at Hagrid and her eyes widened. Rubbing her temples, she hiccupped and said weakly, "They didn't say anything about sending a ... _giant_," The woman squeaked. She fanned herself, hands shaking a little. "I take it you're here to take Jean?" She asked tremulously, looking at her charge.

"On'y fer today," Hagrid answered brightly. "Goin' shoppin' fer a few t'ings 'n then I'll bring 'er back. 'Ogwarts don't start 'till September, anyhow."

"Wait, _what_?" The girl spoke up, looking bewildered and somewhat frightened. "Are you telling me ... this letter ... it's true?" She asked, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm a ... a _witch_?"

"She's a what?" One of the children piped up. Miss Simms immediately went to the door, shooing the children out, shutting the door firmly behind them. There were little groans of disappointment, but no patter of feet leaving, so Miss Simms rapped on the door several times to make them leave. Peeking out from the door, she affirmed that they had indeed gone, and then shut it again, leaning against the door with her eyes closed.

"Naow, don't tell me yeh ain't never 'eard ..." Hagrid looked from the bedraggled Miss Simms to Jean once more. "Oh, ruddy Muggles," He grumbled. "Yeh didn't tell 'er about wha' 'appened? Didn't tell 'er she's _famous_?"

"I'm _what_?" She sputtered, looking positively alarmed. "Miss Simms, what's going on?"

"Listen to him, dear," Miss Simms said faintly. "He knows better than I do."

Hagrid muttered a few things under his breath, and then shook himself. "Yeh're Jean Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived! Yeh're parents were sum o' teh bravest wizards alive!" Hagrid seemed deeply disturbed, and he shot a dark look towards Miss Simms. "Didn't she ever tell yeh?" He asked, and Jean dug her chewed nails into the doorframe, brown eyes blinking rapidly. Miss Simms spoke up weakly.

"I didn't _know_ very much – other than that bearded man told me that she was special, and that I would be getting a letter in a few years time! He said that would be the signal, to send her off to a special school ..." She trailed off, and looked worriedly at Jean. "I'm sorry, dear, I really didn't know. And I knew you were ... _different_ ... but I didn't want the other children to tease you about it."

"They already _do_," Jean pointed out, but her body was quivering with excitement and bewilderment. "They already _do_ tease me. You _could_ have told me," She added, but it was impossible to stay angry at Miss Simms. The young woman tried so hard to keep the orphanage a loving place for them, and most of the time she succeeded

Miss Simms reached for her and patted her thin shoulder, pushing back a few dark curls away from her face. "Oh, dear, I am _sorry_," She whispered. "I truly am."

Jean offered a nervous little smile and accepted the hug Miss Simms bestowed on her. She looked at Hagrid, brows drawn sharply together behind her glasses, and blinked hard, trying hard to understand what was going on. Her brown eyes were fiercely determined beneath her brows as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. "I'm ... a witch," She said hesitantly. "And I'm going to a special school." She trailed off helplessly and looked up at Hagrid. "What do you mean, the Girl Who Lived?"

Hagrid scratched his chin beneath his beard. "Blast it, didn't think I'd 'ave t' explain t'is twice today," Hagrid grumbled, and looked at Harry. "Yeh're twins. You 'n 'Arry." He finally rumbled.

"We're _what_?" The two of them said simultaneously. They looked at each other, twin to twin.

He was about her height, with the same build – light, skinny, and coltish, a patchwork of angles and elbows and knees. Startlingly green eyes looked curiously at her from behind round glasses, Scotch-taped in the middle, and he wore baggy, awkward clothes at least three sizes too big. Unruly black hair stuck up in tousled spikes around his head, tumbling messily into his eyes thanks to a messy cowlick. Their features were roughly the same – high cheekbones, thin lips, large eyes – but the similarities were not instantly visible. A curiously shaped scar zigzagged down his forehead, shaped exactly like a bolt of lightning – at least, that's what it looked like, seeing it was half-hidden beneath a bolt of black hair. Under close scrutiny, Jean decided that the main similarity were their glasses, and they wore them differently – Harry pushed his up to settle on the bridge between his eyes, and Jean's slipped down to the edge of her nose. Harry checked her over with a fresh eye – she seemed to carry herself differently, more subdued, closer together, and her dark hair appeared to be just as unruly, save that she kept it back with her barrettes. She kept pushing down her left knee sock with her foot and dragging it back up again, a nervous habit which seemed just as unconscious as her nail-biting.

"I don't understand," Harry said finally. "Why was I at the Dursley's and she was here? Why were we separated?"

"Who were my parents?" Jean spoke up, interrupting Harry. "I mean _our_ parents," She added, with an uncertain look at Harry. "And where is –" She checked her letter – "-Hogwarts? Where can we get all this stuff?" She asked.

Hagrid laughed, a deep, booming laugh. "Full 'o questions, aren't yeh?" He chuckled. "Can't answer some of 'em. But I can say t'at yer parents were Lily an' James Potter, and they were murdered by ..." He broke off, looking at Harry, and swallowed hard.

"Lord Voldemort," Harry spoke up. Hagrid shuddered violently, and Jean looked confused.

"Who?" She queried.

Hagrid shook his head. "Evil, 'e was," Hagrid growled. "Those were dark times, those were." He shuddered again, and clapped his hands together. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout it twice in one day. Bad luck."

"But –" Jean began, but Miss Simms cut her off.

"Jean Potter, you are going on an outing," Miss Simms said crisply. "And I won't let you go out dressed like that, especially with your face in such a state. You may be an orphan, but I won't have you going out looking like one, especially when you come from this respectable establishment."

Miss Simms strode out the door, Jean following behind her. But before they turned the corner, Jean turned back to look at the boy again, the boy with the curly black hair and vivid green eyes. And a very small part of her, the part closest to her heart which had so longed for a family, glowed in approval. _I'm not an orphan_, she whispered to herself. _Not anymore_.

* * *

><p>It was hard keeping up with Hagrid. He strode down along the streets, taking gigantic strides to match his huge legs, and both Harry and Jean had to trot to keep up. They drew a lot of strange looks, which they rather expected, but neither of them liked to be stared at. Not to mention they drew an inordinate amount of attention on the Underground, where Hagrid sat on three seats and kept rambling on about dragons. Harry and Jean were embarrassed and fascinated at the same time – if Hagrid were not quite so large, the stories he told would have captured their immediate attention. However, the bizarre looks from the other passengers were downright distracting, and Jean was turning slightly pink around her eyes, behind the frames of her glasses. When they got off the Underground, both of the Potter twins breathed a sigh of relief – but their relief was short lived, seeing as Hagrid had an strange habit of pointing to absolutely regular items, like telephone poles, tracing the wires with one thick finger, and saying in his loud voice, "See? What else will Muggles dream up, eh?" This, of course, led to Jean wondering what on earth Muggles were, which Hagrid was only too happy to explain. As long as the subject wasn't Voldemort – whoever that was – Hagrid seemed perfectly content to talk continuously.<p>

Harry and Jean followed Hagrid down several crooked streets, where the buildings towered close and frighteningly tall around them, and he turned seemingly randomly into a dingy back alley. Jean skirted a dark oily puddle as they drew closer to a small pub, where a battered wooden sign spelled out _The Leaky Cauldron_ in weathered letters. Hagrid barely fit into the doorway, and when he opened the door no block of light spilled into the dim alley – light pushed at the darkness within, and Jean had the thrill of danger every child receives when about to enter someplace dark and reeking of foreboding. When they stepped inside, the dimly lit pub illuminated scant details; dusty glass bottles along the bar, strange looking patrons grouped in quiet huddles, chatting mildly in corners. The rafters were high, and Harry could have sworn he heard the sleepy twitter of owls from the exposed beams above their heads.

"Well, if it isn't Hagrid!" Cried a voice from behind the bar. "Here for the usual, Hagrid?" The man speaking was a short, balding man with a gap between his front teeth – he seemed amicable enough, and was idly wiping a glass clean with the hem of his apron.

"Not today, Tom," Hagrid said importantly, puffing out his barrel chest a few more inches. "'Ogwarts business." He looked meaningfully at Harry and Jean. Tom's jaw went slack as he looked at the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, and the emerald green eyes blinking at him from behind taped glasses.

"Bless my _soul_," Tom gasped. "If it isn't the Potter twins!"

The whole atmosphere of the room changed – an electrical current passed through the air as everyone turned towards the doorway. There were dull scraping noises as chairs were pushed back, and people came over like moths drawn to light. There was a woman with thick brown hair smoking a pipe and blowing purple smoke rings staring awestricken at Harry, and a short man with a lopsided top hat babbling excitedly. Harry started as he looked at the man with the top hat. "I saw you!" He exclaimed suddenly. "You bowed to me once in a shop! Aunt Petunia was ..." He trailed off. He had been going to finish it "been frightfully angry" but decided against it at the last minute. However, it didn't appear as if the man noticed, for he just beamed and continued shaking Harry's hand.

Names and faces flew crookedly through Jean's mind as she bewilderedly shook one hand after the other, listened to people's constant stream of comments, and tried to be polite. A bite of reality was seeping in – if this was a dream or a lie, would all these people have such genuine smiles on their faces, the eager stories spilling from their mouths? No, she decided, this was all real – she felt a little dizzy and uncertain of what to do. They were all so excited, so happy, and the air was positively _charged_ with euphoria, and Jean realized that she was a _celebrity_. Everyone seemed more interested in Harry and his scar – it was quite interesting, Jean realized, and such a strange scar. Still, their reactions towards her were startling.

"'At's enough," Hagrid announced when the people began to get too excited. "We gotta be gettin'- Oh! Professor!"

A tall, thin man with darting, nervous blue eyes smiled anxiously at the trio. Dark slate-gray robes hung on his lanky frame, and a purple turban covered his head. He wrung his hands a little and gave a little wave, and Harry noticed that he bit his nails, much like Jean. He gave a quivering little smile and offered a limp handshake to Harry, and then to Jean. "P-p-Professor Quirrell," He stuttered. "How p-p-please I am to m-make your acquaintance."

"Teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hagrid informed the twins cheerfully.

"N-not like you'll need it, eh, P-Potter?" Quirrell joked feebly. Harry nodded, a little put-off by Quirrell's stammering and weak personality. Hagrid steered the twins away from the eager crowd, but Jean turned her head to catch a last glimpse of the Professor. A Professor who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at her new school. The last few whispers of the surrealistic aura began to ebb away, and she smoothed her curls away from her face again, trying to stop the bright flush which spread over her cheeks.

Because in less than an hour, she had gotten a new life and a new family handed to her. And what girl could ask for more, really?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for this chapter. Family troubles. Needed to write and get it out of my system. Please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

There were colours whirling around them, and both of the twins just stood on either side of Hagrid, mouths open, gaping at the astonishing sights before them. The brick wall had melted seamlessly into a high, vast doorway large enough for even Hagrid to pass through. But it wasn't this small bit of magic which had so entranced the young children – it was the sights beyond it. There was a bustling city street unfurled before them, the cobblestones damp and slick from a humid drizzle, witches and wizards passing by quickly, destinations as varied as the clothes they wore. The shops were crooked and leaned, slightly stilted, against one another, and most of them were bedecked with colourful posters with advertisements which actually _moved_. Sound crashed over them, like waves on a beach, and Jean was too bewildered to discern singular voices in the tumult of sounds weaving together. Her eyes, however, drank up the sights; confined to the dull gray world of the orphanage, these bedecked and magical images shimmered before her like a tantalizing mirage. There was a portly man with a lime-green cloak drawn about his stout body peering in a shop window, frowning beneath his spectacles; A group of small children and young men were gathered around a clear glass display case where a sleek, polished broomstick was for sale. Excited whispers rose like steam from a kettle, and Jean caught snatches of conversation, whirling and soaring into her ears like a bird released.

She could hardly bear to follow Hagrid and Harry – there was so much to see, just standing here, that she didn't think she could actually move. There was a deep, resonant feeling of _proof_ – any doubt that this had all been a hoax, a cruel joke, vanished completely, replaced by a tentative happiness and a wary euphoria. With the feeling of a man leaving prison for the first time, Jean shuffled slowly behind Harry and Hagrid, fingers burying themselves in the folds of her skirt as she squeezed and pinched her legs to ensure it wasn't all a dream. Harry seemed just as excited as she; the two of them were gaping and staring, awestricken, at the people and buildings around them, and Jean noticed for the first time that there seemed to be several other children in similar states of astonishment. They too, she decided, had just received the ridiculously outrageous news, and were also witnessing these things for the first time. This comforted her slightly, and as they drew directly into the crush of the crowds, Jean felt a little less afraid. People scared her – most people, anyway. Miss Simms and a select few of the orphans didn't scare her, but random strangers and new acquaintances made her feel shy and awkward. Jean avoided them at all costs.

"Where are we going?" Harry called over the babble of the crowd around them. He was far more excited than his companion – the dark-haired girl who was supposed to be his "sister" seemed apprehensively frightened of the crowds and noise, although there was a lingering warmth near her eyes. Hagrid answered in his deep, loud voice which pealed out well over the roar of the crowd.

"Gringotts, the wizards' bank," Hagrid shouted. "On'y one in Britain. Run by goblins."

"There's banks for wizards?" Harry asked, and remembered the handful of copper coins he had discovered in Hagrid's pocket. Of course, wizards had to have their own currency. Hagrid nodded sagely at Harry's question, and seemed prepared to answer it, but a fresh bout of giggling witches cut him off. There was a bright pink store which seemed to be drawing most of the female attention – alluring scents wafted out into the streets, and some of the men were blinking and shaking their heads as they tried to clear their minds of the seductive aromas. As they passed the salacious store, Hagrid changed course and the two Potter twins saw a sleek, tall building hewn from polished white marble standing aloofly in the distance. Golden letters spelled Gringotts in bold, striking type, and there was a steady stream of witches and wizards passing through the heavy brass doors. Due to Hagrid's great size, people cleared a path for them, and it was then that Harry noticed several people staring at them. Some of them were mouthing "The Potter twins?" to one another, and the feeling of being stared at felt distinctly uncomfortable to Harry. He mussed up his dark hair and spilled another bolt of black curls into his eyes, covering his scar a little better.

Entering Gringotts, there was the distinct aura of foreboding – high, drafty ceilings echoed every minute rustle of fabric and every whisper of words, cataloging them and bouncing the syllables back mockingly at the people who uttered them. The Potter twins followed Hagrid quietly, threading through the soft velvet ropes which blocked clean aisles through the slick marble floors. Desks of impressive height were carved along the walls, with short creatures moving behind it. Due to the lack of height in both Harry and Jean, the goblins were invisible to them until one of them drew quite close to the desk. When it did so, it smiled nastily, revealing expansive rows of crooked, needle sharp teeth which jostled for place in the goblins' mouth. Tan skin sagged slightly on their angular faces, and a spiky thatch of hair sprang between their long, pointed ears. Sharp nails, more like claws really, tapped against the marble desk as the goblin surveyed the trio. "Do you have a key?" The goblin asked, its voice hissing and crackling, like a bad quality television set.

Hagrid momentarily looked surprised, and then jumbled in his pockets for a moment. "Just a mo'," He muttered, and began piling things up on the desk. Soggy dog biscuits, crumpled newspapers, loose change, and a dead mouse were just a few of the items which were unearthed by Hagrid's thick, ham-sized hands, but he emerged victorious with a dented brass key. "Knew I 'ad it 'ere somewheres," He grinned, and passed it over to the long-fingered goblin. He leaned over conspiratorially to the goblin, dropping his voice so Harry and Jean had to strain to hear. "An' I'll be pickin' up _you-know-what_ in vault _you-know-where_," He whispered loudly, then tapped the side of his nose with a big finger.

"Very well," The goblin said, and turned to another goblin. "Griphook! Take our ..." His smiled turned into a predatory leer – "... visitors down to their vaults, if you please."

* * *

><p>They emerged not half an hour later, shaky, pale, and sweaty, nerves jangled from the bizarre cart ride. Jean's vision doubled, swam foggily, and then settled as her breathing became squeaky, and her heart jumped erratically in her chest. Tight, enclosed spaces were not her favorite place – tight, enclosed spaces in the <em>dark<em> even less so. And combined with the tiny cart hurtling on a rickety metal track, plummeting deep into the yawning maw of a bottomless abyss .. Jean had not been a very happy girl going down to their vaults. She had buried her face in Hagrid's moleskin coat for the remainder of the journey, and even now, back in the glaring sunlight, the fear of it still lingered. Still, a glossy image sprang to the forefront of her mind – _gold_. Piles of thick, buttery gold coins, heaps of gleaming silver discs, stacks of glittering bronze Knuts, all for her. Well, her and her _brother – _it had been a joint account, an account which had belonged to her parents but now belonged to her – them. She snuck a look over at Harry – _her brother_ – and tried to see the similarities. The most noticeable similarity were the glasses, she agreed. The same jaw perhaps, but their eyes were different – his a beautifully complex shade of emerald green, hers a relatively plain display of golden brown.

Madam Malkin's Robe Shoppe was nearly empty, except for a beautiful redheaded woman browsing in the back aisles, and Jean was slightly relieved. She, like Harry, had noticed the people staring and had been remarkably unsettled by it. Also, the idea of being outfitted for clothes that fit was exhilarating in that deliciously feminine way in which no male can fully understand or appreciate. Madam Malkins was a thin, birdlike woman with iron gray hair pulled sharply back into a bun, and her wand was a short, pale stick which twitched deftly as rulers measured the twins for fitting. The stood on stools, both feeling slightly awkward, until Harry noticed the blonde haired boy standing about ten feet away. The boy had a snooty, distinguished air which seemed to linger around those of aristocratic birth, and there was a privileged lushness to his hands and eyes which belonged only to the wealthy. The blonde boy caught Harry's look and curled his lip slightly. "Hello," He said, and there was a soft drawl skimming his words, something lazy and sneering about his accent. "Going to Hogwarts this year, are you?"

"Yes," Harry answered, feeling stupid – he didn't quite know what else to say. Jean had gone very quiet next to him, and he decided she wasn't good around people. She hadn't said so much as two words to him, after all, and now she was positively cringing away from the blonde boy.

"So am I," The blonde boy smirked. "What House do you think you'll be in? My whole family's been in Slytherin, I hope to go there," He said, and looked over at the twins.

"Mm," Harry said, the awkward feeling increasing. Either the blonde boy didn't notice or didn't care.

"Ravenclaw doesn't sound too bad, but I'd rather _die_ than be in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" He asked, turning cold blue-gray eyes to Harry and Jean. When the dark-haired siblings said nothing, he continued. "Still, I think the most outrageous thing is that first years can't have brooms. My father says it's the rules, but I think I can smuggle one in somehow. Do you play Quidditch?" He asked.

"No," Harry said truthfully. He hadn't the slightest idea what the boy was talking about. Houses? Quidditch?

"What about you?" The boy sneered, looking disdainfully at Jean. "Do you talk?" He demanded.

She nodded, cheeks turning scarlet from shame, and tried to think of something to say. Luckily, at that moment, Madam Malkins shoved a crinkled paper bag into Harry's arms. "Thank you, darling," Madam Malkins said. "Take care now!" She called after them, and Jean headed directly for the door, cheeks hot and red enough to rival a setting sun, and Harry left behind the cruelly laughing blonde boy and the busy Madam Malkins as the two of them went out into the street.

Jean took a long gulp of air, trying to settle her nerves. Everything had happened so _fast_ - and she didn't like meeting new people like that. She wanted everything to be bare and exposed from the beginning; Jean wasn't a person who liked to unravel people's secrets. Everything should be out on the table in the beginning of a relationship. And randomly meeting people in a shop was not the way Jean liked to make friends. She chose her friends with excruciating care, noting their habits to the point of obsession, and usually deciding at the last moment that the relationship was not worth the effort.

Then again, she had a very poor idea of friendship.

* * *

><p>Ollivander's wand shop was creaky, dusty, and maintained the look of an old, charmingly abandoned attic. Full bands of sunlight streamed through cracked windowpanes, bedazzled with golden dust motes, stroking sweet fingers of warmth through the old shop. Slender boxes lined sagging shelves which stretched to the ceiling, and scrolls were also crammed among them here and there. A slightly off-balance desk was in the rear of the shop, covered in a pile of ledgers, quills, ink bottles, parchment, and bird feathers which could only be described as tawny owl. Aisles full of dusty shelves carved the shop into crammed, stifling angles which left odd corners and tiny nooks around edges which seemed perfect for a child or cat to play in. The building had a settled, homey feeling to it, and an old creaky staircase led to a loft area hidden from view. There didn't seem to be anyone around, and Jean was just about to call out when they both heard a soft, metallic noise behind them. A man leaned against a ladder, aged face lined with the promise of many years, and with fluffy white hair falling in ruffled curls to his jaw, he surveyed them with queerly electric blue eyes. "I wondered when I would be seeing the Potter twins in my shop," He said quietly, and disappeared around a corner. Jean strained to see what he was doing, and saw that he appeared to be running the tips of his fingers over the spines of the slender boxes packed onto his shelves.<p>

"It seems only yesterday your mother and father were in this very shop buying their first wands," He said, coming back with a pair of boxes in his arms. "Try this, Mr. Potter," He said softly, and Harry set his packages down on a chair by the door. He shot a nervous glance at Jean, and took the wand from Ollivander's knotted hands. Everyone waited for something to happen. "Give it a wave," Ollivander instructed, and Harry hastily swept the wand in the air.

And entire shelf of boxes shot out and spilled along the floor. They all flinched at the noise, Jean especially. "Apparently not," Ollivander said dryly. "You try, Miss Potter," He said, handing the wand to her.

There was no reaction – no magical wash of light, nothing but the feeling of holding a dead stick in her hands. Jean felt a sheet of stupidity and self-consciousness as she jabbed the wand awkwardly at the desk, and yelped a little as a bang like a gunshot went off. The desk sloped drastically to one side, collapsing, as one of its legs mysteriously vanished. Hastily, she handed the wand back to Ollivander, wiping her hands on her jumper. "Mm," Ollivander said, slotting the boxes back on the shelves. He emerged with two more.

Harry – a vase broke. Jean – the curtains caught fire.

Three wands later, the shop was in ruins and Jean had momentarily worn a shockingly pink jumper due to Harry's helpless sweep of a wand. "The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander said every time something broke. Jean privately wondered how often these things broke in his shop, and how often he had to keep repeating that mantra through his mind.

They weren't quite sure how long they had been there, but there was a rapidly growing pile of unusable wands stacked at Ollivander's feet. He opened another one, and muttered under his breath, "Ten and three quarters, maple, unicorn hair," and then handed it to Jean.

It was like sun kissing a frosted field – warmth stole over her fingers, creeping up her elbow, heating her side as her heartbeat bled into the wand in her fingers. It seemed to pulse along with her own heartbeat, fresh and dizzyingly excited, as if the wand, too, had just awoken and was eager to do magic. Her breath suddenly left her throat as she flexed her fingers against the wand, flicking it experimentally – it felt light and agile in her fingers, smooth and slender. Golden sparks fizzled from the end, spouting over the floorboards, and her dark brown eyes were alive and dancing with excitement and magic as she stared at her wand. Harry grinned, and caught her eye – the plain brown eyes which had been so meek and scared were bright and animated as she rubbed a finger down the length of her wand.

"Ah," Ollivander said, and smiled slightly. "The wand chooses the wizard, Miss Potter," He said softly, and took the wand from Jean's hand, who was reluctant to part from it. He slipped the wand into a box and handed it to her. Even holding the box, she felt warmer.

"And now, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, those queer blue eyes focusing on Harry. "Try this one. Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core." He seemed more intent on the wand than Harry, as if afraid the pair would glow or turn blue.

It was far more violent with Harry than it had been with Jean – his hair ruffled, green eyes going bright as he held the wand, and a hot strobe of magic flared along his pulse and pierced his heart. Fingers tangled around the base, quivers of electricity seemed to shiver up his arm, goose flesh rising all over his body as an unseen wind flared his hair. Jean looked at him curiously, and Ollivander was running a finger along his upper lip, staring at the boy and the wand with an intent expression on his face. "Curious..." Ollivander whispered. "Very curious."

"No two wands are the same, Mr. Potter," Ollivander continued, taking the wand carefully from Harry. "And I remember every wand which has been sold in this shop. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are the same. Each was is unique, each wizard unique, and each form a bond to one another which goes far deeper into the soul than anyone can understand. But your wand, Mr. Potter –" Ollivander shook his head, deeply disturbed. "_Your_ wand, is linked to another. Curious, Mr. Potter. It is curious that the owner of the linked wand is the one who gave you that scar."

A shudder pulsed through him, hot and fast, and Harry felt the urge to drop his wand at once. The moment passed, and he heard Ollivander whisper, "Terrible. Terrible, but great."

_Terrible but great. _

The destiny of the Potter twins was revealed by Ollivander in those simple words.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I am officially exhausted. Thanks for all your kind reviews, they mean a lot. **


	4. Chapter 4

_The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page._

The sentence was elaborate in the mind of an eleven year old, and Jean couldn't remember for the life of her where she had gotten it from. The tiny slip of paper was yellowed with age, and she remembered quite clearly tearing it from a old, dusty book and stuffing it into the pocket of her skirt. Now, it was being pressed between the pages of her school text book – _Standard Book of Spells, Grade One – _and being packed along with all of her other new belongings. She was suddenly popular in the orphanage – Hagrid's visit, combined with her sudden acquirement of these new, strange instruments, had made her the chief source of gossip among the young children. Jean stacked her books into the sleek, gleaming new trunk which she had gotten at Diagon Alley – there were expanding compartments which seemed to fit anything, no matter of the size or weight. Weeks had passed since the eventful trip to Diagon Alley had commenced, and Jean had spent nearly every minute reading the books she had gotten, trying on her new robes, and attempting to befriend her new pet. Harry had gotten an owl, a magnificent snowy white creature which Jean insisted they could share. It had been horrendously expensive, and both of them were dazed at the thought of actually having enough money to spend that amount on a pet. Jean had never had a pet before, except for a bowlegged, flea-infested cat which occasionally came mewling around the back door of the orphanage. Owls were the sensible choice, she remembered thinking as they scanned the aisles in Magical Menagerie, seeing as they could carry mail and the like. But, selfishly, she wanted her first pet to be cuddly. And sweet. Cats were the other obvious choice, but Hagrid claimed he was allergic, and Jean didn't want to hurt his feelings by ignoring his statement and getting a feline anyway.

And that was how she ended up with Remmington, a black rat with glittering black eyes and a coat of slick fur the colour of ink. At the moment, Remmington was nibbling contentedly at the corner of Jean's pillow, and squeaked in protest when she scooped him up with both hands and set him down in his wicker cage. He sniffed at the bars, craning his neck up at her, and she shut the door to his cage with a decisive _snap_! With her clothing and books packed, and her pet safe, Jean looked around the room, afraid and a little nostalgic. She was going to be leaving this place, and despite how alone she often felt, at least she had been safe. Protected by Miss Simms, her guardian, and given three meals a day and a roof over her head. Now, sent spinning into the unknown, Jean was armed with a rat, a wand, and a gigantic pile of books which were filled of things which made no sense to her.

Part of the odd things she read in her textbooks were the occasional references to herself and Harry – her twin. It was strange; she would be skimming through pages of her history books, and then her name would spark from the page, always accompanied by her brother's name, and a paragraph or so outlining what had happened on that terrible night ten years ago. After coming across their names the first time, and after reading a rather _well-described_ article of what happened, she had stopped looking for her name. Part of her didn't want to know what happened to her parents. Ever.

"Jean? Jean, are you ready?" Miss Simms called from the bottom of the stairs. Blinking hard behind her glasses, Jean scooped up the wicker cage Remmington resided in, and started lugging her trunk downstairs. Her wand was in her skirt pocket, stowed there after quite a bit of mulling over where to keep it.

The trunk thumped loudly as she dragged it down the stairs, and paused when she saw the entire Orphanage assembled in front of her. Perhaps thirty freshly-scrubbed faces looked solemnly at her, and Miss Simms was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Jean, dear, we just wanted to ..." She broke off, swallowed hard, and hugged Jean tightly. It was slightly awkward, seeing as Jean was in front of everybody, and also because she was holding two extremely large objects, but she liked the hug. Miss Simms had always been good to her, had always done her best. "We just wanted to give you a proper send off, before you went to ... that – other place." She finished, glancing at the assembled children.

"Thank you," Jean mumbled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and pointedly looking at the floor. "I'll miss you all." She wanted to say more, but her nerves were wound tight as a steel spring, and her belly was constricting as she thought of leaving the warm, bland world of the Orphanage.

It was a blustery autumn day, and the stiff breeze aggressively teased their hair, and Miss Simms hailed a cab as Jean rested Remmington's cage on top of her trunk. A pale face maid closed the door behind them, and Jean instinctively knew that the children she knew at the Orphanage would most likely be there when she came back. If she came back. Her stomach twisted again and she tried not to think about the unknown adventure unfurling before her. Miss Simms hailed a cab, and then helped the cab driver haul all of Jean's possessions into the backseat. The motherly young woman dropped a kiss on her charge's head, and smoothed Jean's hair away from her face, adjusting the red barrettes. "You mind your manners now," Miss Simms instructed. "Don't get into trouble, Jean. And – stay safe."

Jean struggled for words, and looked pleadingly up at Miss Simms's kindly face, prematurely lined from the daily strife her young charges gave her. "I will," Jean promised, and threw her arms around her caregiver's waist. "I promise, Miss Simms."

"Come on, dear," Miss Simms said, papering a smile on her face. "You're going to be late. Do you have your rat? Good."

_The world is a book,_ Jean reminded herself, slightly desperately, as she got into the cab and got a last look at Miss Simms. _But it's a book with the ending ripped out. _

* * *

><p><p>

She saw him looking quite lost as he wandered around King's Cross station, his unruly black hair curling around his eyes. Hedwig, his big white owl, was napping with her head under her wing, and her brother was attracting a lot of attention from people, most of which hadn't seen an owl before. There were people all around her, and noise wove together to form a blanket of sound. A burly officer had helped her find a trolley to dump her luggage onto, and she wheeled the cumbersome item over to her brother with some difficulty. Jean opened her mouth, and tried to think of what to say. She had only seen her brother once before, and there had been no time to talk then – not to mention Jean had never been good at initiating conversations. "Harry?" She called, approaching him nervously. He looked up, green eyes narrowing, and then he relaxed in recognition. He seemed confused, and kept looking up at the platform signs.

"Hullo," He responded, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Was there anything in your letter about how to get onto the platform?"

She remembered seeing the unusual number – Platform Nine and 3/4. "No," She answered, and checked the signs. Platform Nine – Platform Ten. "What are we supposed to do?" She asked worriedly, the knot in her stomach tightening.

"I'm not –" He began to say, but then a burst of talk broke through the indistinguishable noise around them.

" – What these Muggles dream up, I have no idea –"

"Can't I go, _please_, Mum?"

" – Not sure exactly where –"

A group of people passed by, every one of them with straight red hair and brown freckles. An older woman, her face lined and worried, as she directed her gathering of children towards the platform column. There were several trolleys between them, all of them loaded down with battered trunks and one of them had a pair of old, cracked trainers looped around the handle. A young girl, perhaps nine or ten years old, had tears running down her cheeks and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. Harry brightened up, and gave a half-smile in Jean's direction. "_Muggles_," He said eagerly. She frowned before she remembered the term she had found in one of the books she had read – non magic folk, apparently. She stayed tethered to the trolley, and strained her ears to listen to Harry as he approached the harried-looking woman. "Excuse me," Harry interrupted as politely as possible, "We're going to Hogwarts this year, but the letter didn't tell us how –"

"How to get onto the platform?" The woman said kindly. "Yes, well, we'll show you. It's Ron's first year, too!" She beamed, and patted the shoulder of a thin, gangly boy with red hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. The ginger-haired youth rubbed his nose self consciously, averting his eyes from Harry's face. He had a smudged spot of dirt on his nose, and he looked as though he was oblivious of his state of slight dishevelment. "Is that your sister?" The woman asked brightly, and Jean flushed shyly and dropped her gaze.

The twins followed the brood of redheads towards the brick column between Platform Nine and Ten, and the older woman smiled at the tallest redhead, who had a buffed bronze badge pinned to his dark jumper. "Percy, you first," The woman said. Percy threw his chest out, and dipped his head confidently before striding swiftly towards the brick barrier. A loud, noisy group of American tourists passed by, gaping loudly and snapping photos, which prevented the Potter twins from seeing how Percy disappeared. Brow furrowed, Harry squinted as a set of teenaged redheads stepped forward, both nearly identical. "You next, Fred," The plump older woman said.

"Can't you tell your own sons apart?" The boy asked, pretending to be offended. "Call yourself our mother – can't you tell I'm _George_?"

"Sorry, go on, George," The mother said, waving him forward anxiously. A cocky grin flashed up the side of his face.

"Only joking, I am Fred," He laughed, and bounded forward. This time, Harry's mouth dropped open as George – or Fred, he wasn't sure – melted seamlessly into the brick column. Jean's eyes went huge behind her glasses, and the two of them gaped as Fred – or George – followed his twin into the column.

"You next, dears," The woman said nicely, and Harry glanced nervously at Jean. "Best do it at a bit of a run, if you're nervous," She suggested.

Jean watched, terrified, as Harry took a deep breath and pushed his trolley forward, jogging at first and then picking up speed as he charged towards the brick column. She cringed, expecting to hear a crunching noise and a cry of pain, but when she dared open her eyes, Harry had also disappeared. The redheaded woman jerked her chin at Jean, and the young girl wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, trying to calm her quivering nerves. She didn't run – what if the barrier suddenly closed, and this was all an illusion to make her look stupid? If she was going to charge into a brick wall, she wasn't going to hurt herself. But the instant the front of her trolley disappeared, the rest of her followed, and there was a brief, cool sensation. When she opened her eyes again, her jaw dropped to her chest.

There was another train station within the brick column – only one train, however, a long, majestic scarlet steam engine puffing plumes of white steam in the air. There were dozens of people, most of them dressed in cloaks and robes; there were parents smothering their young ones with kisses, and there were  
>teenagers snogging enthusiastically, half-hidden in shadowy corners. She saw plenty of caged owls, most of them flapping their wings irritably and glaring beadily at the confusion around them, and she could hear the snarled hisses and deep growls of upset tabbies inside wooden boxes. The noise was lessened in here, due to the confines of the room and the lack of crowds, but the conversations were strange and bewildering to Jean's inexperienced ears.<p>

" – and be sure to send an owl as soon as you get there –"

" – mind him, he's bloody brilliant at Potions –"

" – wrestling trolls in Sweden, last I heard –"

" – no such things as dragons, are there –"

Her heart skipped several beats, and she gripped her trolley harder, knees trembling, mouth dry with excitement as she got her first taste of her new world. Harry was struggling with his trunk, and Jean wheeled her trolley over to him, unable to contain the small, excited smile quirking her mouth. _This is _ridiculous_, _she told herself. _Absolutely ridiculous_. But it was true, it was _real_, and Jean tried to stop the anxiousness welling up in her heart. Harry looked up at her through a curtain of dark hair, frowning a little as he struggled with his trunk. "Need a hand?" She asked, and he nodded tightly, yanking it up another step.

"We can help," Said two voices simultaneously, and the Potter twins looked up to see the pair of redheaded twins who had helped them onto the platform. "Fred and George Weasley, charmed to meet you," Said one of them – Fred or George, neither Potter was quite sure which – and they both reached forward to help with the trunks. Jean stepped back, clutching Remmington's wicker cage to her chest, and followed the Weasley twins sheepishly up the steps, feeling awkward. They seemed to know their way around very well, and the Weasley twins banged open the nearest compartment door, hoisting the trunks over their heads and sliding them onto the luggage racks. One of them – Fred, Jean was fairly sure – cocked his head to one side. "Are you the Potter twins?" He asked bluntly.

"Nah, they're not," The other twin said – George, Harry was certain.

"Well ..." Jean looked uncomfortably at Harry. She hadn't liked finding their names in history books, and neither of them had liked being stared at in Diagon Alley. But Harry interrupted her, shrugging.

"Oh, yeah, we are," He said, and glanced at Jean. "She's, well, I mean, she's my sister. My twin."

"_Wicked_!" George and Fred said together.

"Do you have –" Fred (or George) said.

"- The, you know?" George (or Fred) finished.

"The scar?" They said at once.

Harry furrowed his brow, and flipped up his curtain of unruly hair. There, carved jaggedly into his forehead, was the curious lightning bolt scar. Both Weasley twins mouthed the word 'wicked' again, and left rather abruptly, no doubt to spread the gossip about the Potter twins. Jean gave Harry an uneasy look.

Whether they liked it or not, the Potter twins were about to have their first real taste of fame.

* * *

><p><p>

**A/N: So, a little longer, yes? Guess what? I have Twitter! Yeep! Username is Velvet_n_Satin, so if you're on twitter and want to follow me, go ahead! I'll be posting updates about my stories there, with character pictures, contests, etc. xD So, yeah, enjoy! **


	5. Chapter 5

It nearly overwhelmed her.

The castle, solid black and statuesque against the milky blue backdrop of a sky emblazoned with stars, the windows dotted with thousands of pinpricks of light. A flat, rippling lake stretched before them, the tiny wavelets crested with the light of the stars and from the castle itself. Craggy black cliffs jutted aggressively into the sky, surrounding the castle in a careful, powerful embrace. The castle itself was a majesty – huge, with high stone walls which circled the grounds, and there were windows spilling blocks of light against the darkness. The twisted, gnarled frame of a gigantic tree cut against the moon, which was rising in the sky – a massive silver coin which seemed close enough to touch. The Hogwarts Express drew to a puffing, hissing stop, the wheels screeching against the tracks, and allowed the children to hurry out onto the curb. The noise was glorious, laughing, joking, exchanging opinions, and yes, even a few arguments breaking out here and there. They were already clad in long robes of black, so they resembled small bats floundering towards the castle, land-bound despite the wings of material. There was a deep, gruff voice calling out, "Firs' years, over 'ere! Firs' years!"

"That's us, I think," Harry called to Jean over the hubbub of noise. He was accompanied by a tall, gangly redhead who was looking at the castle with an expression of mingled fear and delight. Ron Weasley was his name – Jean had been relatively quiet throughout the train ride, her heart too full of apprehension and homesickness to really join in on the conversation. But Ron seemed like a nice enough boy, and Jean trailed the pair up the stony path towards the castle. Hagrid had been the one shouting, and she was relieved to see a familiar figure; all of these new people were harping on her homesickness and her desire of solitude. However, she couldn't help gaping in sheer awe at the sight of the castle as they drew closer, the magnificent black structure which seemed sturdy and bulky against the elegant moonlit background. She shied away from the water, the waves rippling at her feet, and she scrambled gracelessly into a boat with Ron and Harry. Harry reached for the oars, but they came to life before his hands touched them, and the little fleet of rowboats pulled smoothly away from the shore, carrying the nervous first years.

Jean gripped the side of the boat in a tense grip; she had never been in a boat before, magical or otherwise, and it was a little eerie, being in the water but not getting wet. The little boat bobbed cheerfully along, and she could see the expressions on people's faces as they drifted by, thanks to the golden lantern hanging from the stern of the boat. Ron was muttering something in Harry's ear, the redhead quite pale, and Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose with an anxious air. He caught Jean's gaze and the two of them looked away hurriedly. It was still surreal, still strange, to think that the two of them were related. That they hadn't been alone all these years, but simply kept in the dark for reasons unknown.

The little boat ground to a crunching halt at the opposite side of the lake, and first years bounded out, including the Potter twins. There were a few whispers, but mostly the little group of eleven year olds' was silent, too nervous about the upcoming trials ahead. Hagrid stumped up the path, a big lantern swinging from his fist. "Firs' years, come on!" He called behind him, and the flock of children followed him, not quite together but not separately either, pairing off into twos and threes. The narrow path leading towards the castle's main gates was steep, and Jean slipped once or twice, tripping on the hem of her new robes. However, she didn't appear to be the only person unprepared to deal with the extra clothing; there were several other children looking just as uncomfortable as she.

Hagrid pulled open the massive, thick oaken door, and a burst of warm air hit them hard, reddening their faces and raising the hair on their arms. The interior was just as lavish and stately as the outside appeared to be; sweeping corridors, gargoyles leering in annexes, and crimson rugs, worn thin beneath the feet of thousands of children. Ahead of them was a wide stone staircase, and they mounted it with growing apprehension. A knot twisted hard in Harry's stomach, and he swallowed. He didn't have any magical expertise – what were they expecting of him? An image blossomed in his mind: himself, foolishly brandishing a wand, trying to make something happen, while the entire school laughed at him. The nausea in his stomach reared, and he fought to keep the contents of his stomach down. What was going to happen?

"First years!" Called a crisp, slightly lilted voice from the head of the stairs. Before them was a tall, stately woman, her black hair drawn sharply back with not a strand out of place. There was a weathering about her face, but there was a stern, sharp look to her eyes as she peered over the rims of her square-framed spectacles. Emerald green robes caught the light and shimmered mutely, and her lined fingers were clasping a scroll, tied neatly with ribbon. "I am Minerva McGonagall. You may call me Ma'am, or Professor McGonagall. You are to wait here, and tidy yourselves up a bit," She said, looking at the grubby faces which reflected back at her. "And then you will accompany me to the opposite room, where you will be Sorted into your appropriate Houses." She left with a swish of her robes.

"Sorted?" Jean whispered to Harry, who was the nearest person to her and the one she most trusted. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered back, looking awfully pale and very scared. "Ron says there's some sort of test."

Jean hardly had time to become sick at the thought, because at that very moment there was a sneering, disdainful voice from beside them. "So, _you're _the famous Potter twins," Snapped a cold voice, and everyone turned to see a thin, blonde boy scowling at the dark-haired twins. It was the same boy who had sneered at them in Madame Malkins, and Jean felt distinctly cowed by both the situation and his domineering presence. "I didn't recognize you in the shop," He said carelessly. "Otherwise I'm sure we would have been friends." His artic blue eyes turned to Ron, who was still rubbing at the spot of dirt on his nose. "I see you've made do with the Weasley brood, though," The boy sneered. He held out a hand aggressively, smirking at Harry. "I'm Draco Malfoy. You don't have to stay with _him_," He added, curling his lip at Ron, who flushed a dark, blotchy red.

"Ron and I are just fine, thanks," Harry said firmly, not accepting Draco's hand. He didn't want to glance at Jean – what was she going to say?

"What about you?" Draco said, turning to Jean. There was an icy chill in his eyes now, an iron-hard determination.

"I don't need friends," Jean said, very quietly, "And I certainly don't need you as one."

It would have been a profound statement if she hadn't stuttered halfway through, and she never met his eyes; but he got the message. Draco opened his mouth, perhaps to say something nasty, perhaps to snarl at them, but the doors flew open and Professor McGonagall stood there again, scroll in hand. "First years," She said tartly, eyeing Draco, "Please follow me."

The first years followed the sharp outline of the Professor through the doors, and up a small flight of wooden steps. There was a small antechamber, and the gathering of children barely squeezed inside. McGonagall gestured towards the door. "When I call your name," She began, "You will walk through the doors and take a seat on the stool. There, the Sorting Hat shall Sort you into your proper House, and then you shall join that House at the appropriate table. Am I clear?" She asked. There was a quiet murmur of tense acquiescence. "Very well," She said.

"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall called, and a chubby girl with thick blonde ponytails followed her timidly. The rest of the group strained to see what would happen, and Hannah took a trembling seat on the stool. A tattered, dusty old hat was placed reverently on her head, and there was a long moment of silence. Then the rip on the seam opened, and shouted out,

"_Hufflepuff_!"

"Wear the hat?" Ron sputtered incredulously. "That's all? My brother's were going on about wrestling trolls and brewing poisons..."

Harry smiled faintly, still unsure – what if the Hat took one look inside his head and decided he didn't think he was the Wizarding sort at all? He wished desperately he could have tried on the hat without all of those people watching. From this distance, they were a blank, faceless crowd, but he was certain he would be able to pick out details when he came closer.

They waited. And waited. And waited. The crowd in the small antechamber thinned, and Jean felt as though she was able to breathe.

"Finnegan, Seamus!" McGonagall called, and a curly-haired boy stumbled forward, accepting the hat. There was an unendurably long silence, during which the tips of Seamus's ears turned bright pink. After a lengthy pause, the Hat conceded Seamus to be a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!" A bushy-haired girl with abnormally large front teeth bounded forward, accepting the hat and shutting her eyes tightly.

"_Gryffindor_!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Barely a second after the hat touched his head, the hat proclaimed, "_Slytherin_!"

There were less and less people, now, only a handful left. The Patil twins, someone named Parkinson, and then -

"Potter, Harry!"

Whispers struck through the hall. "Potter? _The_ Potter?" The chattering swelled when Harry stepped onto the wooden stage, his his stomach knotted and hung, twisted, in his middle. He sat down on the chair, nails digging into the wooden boards, and he couldn't bear to look at the sea of admiring faces. The hat dropped over his eyes, and he only saw blackness. There was a peculiar scent, too – something like sandalwood, and dusty old books.

_Mm,_ The hat whispered in his mind, _Tricky one, aren't you? There's a lot of courage in you, boy, oh, yes. A nice thirst for ambition...a desire to please...But where to put you? _

_Not Slytherin,_ Harry through frantically, remembering Hagrid's words. He wasn't going to be Sorted into a House where all evil wizards came from. _Anything but that. _

_Not Slytherin, eh? _The hat inquired. _You would be great, you know – it's all here, right inside your little head. But, very well – better be - _

"Gryffindor!"

There was a storm of applause, and Harry shakily descended the steps. The Gryffindor table was the rowdiest – large crimson-and-gold hangings decorated the air above them, and there was a crimson runner stretching along the length of their long table. People were whooping and cheering, slapping him hard on the back, and he smiled, relieved. Was that it? He hadn't been humiliated, he hadn't been Sorted into Slytherin. Perhaps he was Wizarding stock after all! He sat down numbly, staring at a spot on the table, unable to believe his good fortune. Someone was shouting congratulations in his ear, but he jerked out of his reverie when he heard:

"Potter, Jean!"

Jean was terrified. She wished she could have crawled away, gotten back on the train, and leapt straight back into the comfort and safety of the Orphanage. But every eye was on her, and the blood sounded hard and unnatural in her ears. Should she run? Should she continue? Her shaking legs propelled her to the stool, and she sat, staring at the floor, quivering like a rabbit. Like her brother, there was utter darkness when the hat dropped onto her head, and the scent of sandalwood swung across her nose. A tiny voice in her ear made her flinch.

_Not as brave as your brother, are you? _The hat noted, _But you've got a head on your shoulders, that's for certain. Mm. Hard worker, too, eh? _

_Don't make a mistake,_ Jean pleaded silently.

_Oh, there's no mistake about it,_ the hat said firmly.

"Hufflepuff!" The hat roared.

Jean didn't know how she wound up by the Hufflepuff table, because her legs appeared to have a mind of their own. Her head was whirling, and a giddy sense of relief was soaring through her veins. She thought she might laugh, or cry, or possibly just lay there for the rest of her life. It was over! She had done it! Someone was ruffling her hair, and she finally focused on what was in front of her. Black and yellow hangings were swooped artistically over her head, and a buttercup yellow runner raced across their long table.

There were several more young people ready to receive the hat, but Jean stared stupidly at the floor the entire time. The whole thing seemed so surreal – getting her letter, coming here, and now, Sorted into a House! A family. More than just a place to stay, it was a place to _live_.

Someone poked her, and she found herself looking into the blue eyes of a blonde girl who was giving her a warning look. "Professor Dumbledore," The girl whispered, and Jane turned her head to see a tall, white-bearded old man standing up. His beard hung to his waist in a shining silver wave, and he wore robes of lush, subtle purple. Half-moon glasses, rimmed with gold, couldn't hide a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

"Welcome!" he cried. "Welcome to a wonderful new year at Hogwarts. But before we begin our marvelous feast, I wish to say a few words. Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!" He sat down with great aplomb, and Jane blinked twice.

"What...?" She asked, and the blonde girl at her elbow answered.

"That's Professor Dumbledore," She said, in a high, chirruping voice which reminded Jean of small canaries. "He's a bit strange, but nobody can argue against his teaching methods. He's been here for years, and he's won all sorts of awards. Are you going to eat, Jean, or are you going to sit there with your mouth open?"

Jean blinked, and her jaw dropped a little more.

Spread before her was a dazzling array of food – turkey, chicken, steak, crisps, roasted tomatoes, buttered mashed potatoes, huge baskets of garlic bread, wide servers of pasta. The dishes, plates, forks and cups were all gold or crystal, and amazingly heavy; pitchers of drink were being passed around courteously, and there was a babble of cheerful talk exploding over the Great Hall. Fried chicken passed by Jean's astonished nose, followed quickly by sizzling teriyaki skewers. She didn't quite know where to begin, but she hesitantly scooped a swath of fluffy mashed potatoes onto her plate and took a bite. They were delicious, and she closed her eyes briefly.

"It's a lot to take in," The blonde girl continued. "By the way, I'm Sophie Morrison, your Prefect. I'll be showing you where everything else is later, so stay close to me, all right?"

Jean wasn't entirely sure if she nodded; she was still trying to comprehend how so much food had appeared so suddenly. Her practical side began trying to analyze it, and then her hunger washed over her. _Shut up and eat_, she told herself, and began piling vegetables on top of her potatoes.

* * *

><p>She wasn't sure how long they had been sitting there, but she felt incredibly tired and in desperate need of a bed. When Professor Dumbledore dismissed them, there was a lazy movement by all of the stuffed students as they got to their feet. Sophie was joined by a tall, angular, sandy-haired boy, and the two of them led the entire group of Hufflepuffs towards the stairs. While the other Houses began heading upwards, Sophie led the students downstairs, past huge paintings and across long hallways. Jean tried to remember where she was and how to get there, but the food and relief had made her quite sleepy, and she wanted to get to bed. However, she noticed several things – one, that the lower they went, the quieter it got, and also that Sophie appeared to be conversing quite easily with the tall sandy-haired boy.<p>

They turned sharply left, and found themselves in a little nook. The sandy-haired boy pointed out several gigantic oaken barrels which stood sentry in the corner. "This is the entrance to the Common Room," He said, and his voice was warm and smooth as a bolt of silk. It made Jean even sleepier. "To get inside, just tap the slats here, here, and here, to the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and you'll get in. If you don't –" He broke off and chuckled a little. "Well, hopefully none of you are allergic to vinegar."

He tapped the slats on the barrel, and a door swung open from the wall, pushing the barrels aside. Sophie led them still downwards, and Jean saw that the walls were made of smooth, hard clay. When they reached the main Common Room, there were assorted gasps from the first years, and nostalgic sighs from the older teenagers. Jean had never seen a cozier place in her life – the ceiling was quite low, and the room was circular, crowned at either end with a blazing hearth. There was burnished copper everywhere; on doorknobs, on edges, on tea trays. There were lounges and armchairs, along with one big, sloppy couch which was covered with handmade quilts. Round windows gave them an excellent view of a meadow, full of daisies and dandelions, and there appeared to be potted plants everywhere. However, the potted plants were all moving restlessly, waving leaves in greeting and bristling spiny, exotic flowers. The room had the general feeling of the comfortable burrow of some giant animal, and Jean liked it right away. Over the main hearth, there was a large, moving portrait of a badger about to get honey out of a hive. The badger dropped on all fours and winked at the approaching first years, offering a cheery, "Good evening," in a deep Irish grumble.

The doors were circular, and Sophie opened one to lead the girls off to the right. "John will show the boys where their dormitories are," She said, and bid John a quick good night. Jean followed the slender blonde girl, along with three other young Hufflepuffs, until they reached their destination. Sophie smiled when she saw the appreciation on the girl's faces, and showed them into their room. Again, it was a circular, slightly stooped room, and there were four large beds inside taking up most of the space. Beneath each bed was their trunks, and the bedspreads were warm yellow quilts which seemed slightly faded but lovingly used. A red braided rug accented the floor, and there were stacks of comforters at the foot of each bed. There were no hangings or drapes – just large, comfy looking beds and a nightstand by each mattress. Jean recognized her trunk and went over to her bed, sitting down and pulling her glasses off. She was amazingly tired.

"The bathroom is down there," Sophie said, pointing down the hall. "You can't miss it. Good night, girls, and make sure you get a good night's rest." She shut the circular door softly behind her. Jean carefully unclipped her barrettes and laid them next to her glasses on the bedstead. A timid squeak caught her attention, and she saw Remmington's wicker cage next to her bed. Hurriedly, she opened it and spilled the frightened rat onto her bed.

A small squeal of alarm made Jean look up, and she saw Hannah Abbott cringing away from Remmington. "A rat!" She cried. "Ew, put it away! There shouldn't be _rats_ here!"

"He's all right," Jean said in a small voice, picking up her plump black rat and cradling him, slightly defensively. Remmington sniffed her shirt interestedly, and then nibbled her finger. "I got him at the pet shop."

"I have a cat," A black-haired girl said uncertainly. "Marshmallow. Will they get along, do you think?"

Jean looked at the fluffy white cat which was purring loudly on the girl's bed. So far, the two animals hadn't appeared to notice one another. "I don't know," Jean said. "Aren't all cats supposed to hate rats?"

"Mallow doesn't hate much of anything," The black haired girl sighed. "He doesn't _do_ much of anything either, except eat and sleep." She looked at Remmington. "They ought to be okay. By the way, my name's Amy Sanders." She gave a little smile. "And I know your name – you're Jean Potter."

"What's it like, being a Potter?" Spoke up a blonde girl who was standing with her toothbrush in her hand. She cocked her head curiously at Jean. "I mean, is it hard? People must stop you everywhere!"

"I wouldn't know," Jean said, looking away. "I didn't know I was famous until a few months ago. I didn't know I had a brother, either."

Amy's mouth fell open. "But – you're the Potter twins!" She cried. "How could you not know?"

"I just didn't," Jean said tiredly. "I'm going to go wash up before bed," She sighed, and put Remmington down on her pillow. The girls burst into whispers the second Jean was out the door, but she was too tired to worry about it.

When she came back in twenty minutes later, Marshmallow and Remmington were both curled up next to one another, snug and safe on top of the braided rug. She paused to scoop up her pet rodent and put him safely at the foot of her bed, and she heard him snuffling and squeaking, finding a comfortable place between her ankles.

_We're off to a good start,_ she thought tiredly, before her head hit the feather pillow and she fell asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Do I have an excuse for being so behind in my stories? Yes. But it's kind of personal, so suffice to say that my family has been in total disarray. This is the first chance I've had at a computer, so I wrote a nice big chapter for you guys! I would love it if you reviewed and told me what you thought – that would truly make my day. Thanks so much for reading this!**


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